Chapter 11 - The Damage Greer Had Helped Create
Knowing the truth did not make Fletcher immediately safer.
It made everything messier.
Eli’s paternity case moved forward.
The guardianship remained in place while the court considered how any contact should begin.
Marisol continued monitoring the safety plan.
Sabine enrolled Fletcher in feeding therapy after his pediatrician recommended evaluation for sensory and gastrointestinal triggers.
For the first time, someone besides Sabine watched what happened when Fletcher refused food.
He was allowed to refuse.
No bargaining.
No threats.
No forced bites.
Within two sessions, the therapist noted that Fletcher became visibly anxious whenever an adult held a utensil near his face.
Greer read that sentence three times.
Then she cried.
Sabine hired a therapist too.
Not because Greer asked.
Because her attorney apparently told her that refusing help would look worse.
Greer wanted to mock that motive.
Denise stopped her.
“People often enter therapy for bad reasons and stay for better ones.”
Greer had her own work to do.
The prosecutor declined to pursue charges arising from the birthday fight after reviewing the circumstances and injuries, but that did not turn Greer’s behavior into something admirable.
Denise recommended counseling.
Greer went.
Her therapist asked why she had hit Sabine before removing Fletcher from the situation.
“I didn’t think.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
Greer hated that sentence.
Eventually she gave the real one.
“My mother died and I couldn’t do anything. Fletcher was crying and for one second I was seventeen again.”
There it was.
Greer had been calling herself protective when sometimes she was simply terrified of being powerless.
That realization did not make Sabine less responsible.
It made Greer more responsible for herself.
Eli struggled too.
He had spent three years imagining reunion.
Reality was a three-year-old boy who did not know him.
The first supervised introduction happened in a child-therapy office.
Eli brought no presents.
The therapist had suggested avoiding them.
He sat on the floor and played with wooden blocks.
Fletcher watched from beside Greer.
“Who’s him?” Fletcher whispered.
Greer had rehearsed the answer.
“His name is Eli. He knew Mommy Holly.”
Fletcher frowned.
“My mommy is Sabine.”
Eli looked down.
Greer felt something painful move through the room.
No adult corrected Fletcher.
That mattered.
Afterward Eli stood in the parking lot beside Greer.
“I thought I’d feel happy.”
“You met your son.”
“He doesn’t know I’m his father.”
“Not yet.”
Eli looked toward the building.
“I lost three years.”
Greer wanted to blame Sabine.
Then Eli said, “And one year before that was mine.”
Greer looked at him.
“My addiction,” he said. “I gave them a reason to be afraid of me. They turned that reason into something ugly, but I gave them the first piece.”
It was the most adult thing anyone in the family had said.
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And it made the next step harder.
Because there was no version of the story in which one person carried all the blame.
